Chapter 33

I like Chicago before the sun rises. The city’s still quiet, a little sleepy, but not dead. Homeless guys jostle for good panhandling positions, commuters wander up from the subways and get off their trains, cars roll through dim intersections as the first weak red light glitters off the high-rises. It’s a stretching beast shaking off the first groggy steps. The city’s a lumbering giant taking a deep breath, the pause before the real action begins.

This drive gives me time to think. And I mostly think about Elena. Like how it was probably stupid and immature to fuck her in a conference room with like two hundred cops barely fifty feet away, but it was also some of the best sex I’ve had in my life. Like how I feel comfortable in her house, and not just because it’s got a nice bed and fancy furniture, but because it feels like it’s also my space. Like how Elena goes out of her way for me and worries about how I’m feeling, and how I’m starting to do the same for her.

At first, I wanted to possess her. I wanted her body, those gorgeous lips, those plush hips, those perky little tits in the palms of my hands, but it’s a lot more than that now. We talk at night until she starts nodding off and her tone gets slurred and her arms wrap around me like I’m a pillow. And I don’t want to shove her off like I might’ve with any other woman.

It’s a deep connection. It has roots and I don’t even know how far down they go.

I can’t get my mind off her. Which is why I’m distracted when I pull onto a quiet street a few blocks from my mother’s house and don’t notice the car whipping out of a parking spot until it’s too late.

I slam on my brakes. The black sedan’s pulled parallel across the narrow, car-lined street, blocking my way forward. I come to a screeching halt, throw my truck in reverse, and I’m about to slam on the gas when another car pulls up behind me.

Penned in. Fuck. Fucking fuck. I grab my gun from the glovebox, make sure it’s loaded, and put one in the chamber. Options flit through my head: ram the car out front and try to get away, but that one’s parallel and I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it move before whoever’s inside starts shooting. There are more cars on either side of me, blocking me from trying to jump up onto the curb, and the car behind looks like a sturdy SUV.

Trapped. Fucking trapped. Which means I’m fighting my way out of this.

My heart’s racing. They’ll think I’m going to try to run. But if I attack first, maybe I’ll get lucky, kill a guy in front of me, and find some space to escape on foot. If I’m very, very lucky, and these assholes are all bad shots.

Someone gets out of the car ahead of me. He stands next to the door and leans back against the car’s frame, crossing his arms over his chest, a smirk on his face. He’s got dark hair, a navy dress shirt, and slacks.

I almost don’t recognize it. But then I do.

Luca Moretti.

I get out of the car. Luca nods at me and I nod back, not sure what the hell is happening. Are the police ambushing me now? I keep my gun low and I don’t step out from the partial cover of the door, even though I’m exposed from behind.

“Just here to talk, Quinn,” Luca calls out.

“We could’ve talked last night.” I remember he was one of the dickheads that made some snide comment about Elena. Except while a lot of the guys I’m friendly with were mostly fucking around, even if they meant it a little bit, Luca stared at her like she was actual trash.

And slowly connections click into place.

“Put the gun away,” Luca says and holds out his hands to indicate that he’s not armed.

“That’s not really a reassurance. All your buddies are probably aiming at me right now.”

Luca’s grin suggests he doesn’t give a fuck. “Put the gun away.”

Not much of a choice. I shove the pistol into my waistband, but leave it up front where he can see it and where I can draw it quick if I have to. I come around the car door and stop at the front bumper of my truck, leaving about ten feet between us.

“When did you start working for Luciano Santoro?” I ask.

Luca’s smirk fades and there’s a moment of real surprise. I relish that, but it’s a petty victory. He looks pissed as he comes closer.

“Don’t fucking worry about me. Worry about how you’re going to walk away from this alive.”

“Thought you just wanted to talk.”

“Talking can lead to other things.”

My eyebrows raise. “You going to try to kiss me, Luca? I’m a married man.”

“Don’t be fucking funny.” He’s struggling to control his temper. “Yeah, Santoro sent me to give you a message. He’s interested in your proposal.”

“Not sure I gave him any specifics yet,” I say, trying to keep myself calm.

“I don’t give a shit what you two talked about, I’m just passing along what he said. Santoro wants to meet with you. Somewhere safe and neutral. But he wants something in return first.”

“What could the great Santoro want from me?”

“Step back from the war. You don’t have to make it obvious, but make sure your guys aren’t going on jobs with the Biancos anymore.”

Interesting. He’s not saying it, but I’m betting my men have been adding to the pressure Santoro’s been feeling. I can work with that.

“And in return, I get a meeting?”

“Yeah, you fucking prick, you get a meeting and you don’t get murdered. Sounds like a good deal to me.”

“Tell your boss that I accept.”

“He’s not my boss.” Luca spits on the ground. “Now I’m done with this shit. I’m going to be late for work.” He turns to get back into the car.

“How many more of you does Santoro have? You got a whole pack of crooked cops?”

“Don’t give me that shit, Quinn. Everyone knows you run all those fucking Irish pricks and they do your bidding like a bunch of fucking trained lap dogs. A man’s got to feed his family.”

“Sounds like a whole lot of rationalization to me.”

“You trying to piss me off? I’m a goddamn cop. I can kill you right here and now, plant some drugs on your body, and claim self-defense. I’d go to a grand jury and end up with a slap on the wrist. Go ahead, test me.”

“You know how everyone says never kill a cop? Sometimes I wish someone would give me an excuse to break that stupid rule.”

Luca snorts and gets into his car. “Santoro will be in touch. Don’t be dumb, Quinn.” Then he turns and drives off.

The car behind my truck backs up until it reaches the intersection, turns around, and heads in the opposite direction.

Leaving me alone in the road like that never happened.

My heart’s racing. I feel like I’m coming down off an adrenaline rush. For a minute there, I really thought I was dead.

Luca wasn’t kidding, he really could have murdered me straight up and gotten away with it.

But here I am. And it seems like Santoro saw my bait and decided to take a bite.